Too Many Regrets
by Borrowed Twenties
Summary: A one-shot on how Terry feels about his double life and how he remembers his normal life before... Please read and review!


This is my first time writing a BB fic and I'm writing random-ness, as usual. This little one-shot is about how Terry looks at his double life, what he thinks of it and basically, his role as the Tomorrow Knight. I guess it is a kinky, cliche, overused idea about writing his feelings on the matter, but I just couldn't help but place myself in his shoes and feel essentially what it could feel like to have late nights and exchange blows with criminals and the sort. I know it's pretty badly written, but... Please review, constructive criticism is invited(:

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own BB. If I did, you'd be seeing a 2nd generation Poison Ivy return to the show... But you don't. So, it is apparent that I don't own BB. Oh yes, and maybe I should write a fic on the return of a Poison Ivy, because that would be fun. I just love Pamela Isley, if her grand-daughter were to return, I would definitely love writing about it. Hmm, maybe that's what I'm going to write later on, if this story garners reviews.

**Too Many Regrets**

He used to be a juvenile delinquent, one with a criminal record of vandalism, small-time robbery and the like. He had once used to be part of a group of gangsters; he had let his grades drop, his studies plunge and his family relationships break down. None of it, he could truthfully say, was all of his fault - his parents divorced in the same year he started running amok, Charlie Bigelow had used their close "friendship" to drag him into the dark underground world of crime and injustice. These sufficed to say they had been indirect causes of what caused him to be a somewhat aloof, violent teenager.

But he regretted it all. He regretted how his record was no longer without blemish, but it was stained. Now people, especially his relatives, never looked at him the same way. He had tried his best to pull up his grades, which he successfully managed to, and he had attempted to be a good son and the sort, but it was hard. His dad always throwing curfew into his face, his mum and younger brother no longer living with him... Life had almost become empty, meaningless, and he didn't know what to do with it. It was hard enough to have a broken family, and now he had to deal with preconceived notions that he was a bad guy? He was automatically judged before others' eyes. He wouldn't say it was totally unfair, because he himself had done it - he had known the consequences, yet he dived into the world of crime. And he had to suffer for his choices. But then it wasn't totally fair either to say he was still a bad guy. Once a bad guy, always a bad guy. Of course, that wasn't true - how about the billions of criminals who had reformed and turned over a new leaf? Of course, there was still discrimation. They perceived him to be a criminal. He would no longer be able to fully blend into the background, for once people heard he had been to juvie, the look in their eyes changed.

The look in their eyes changed from one of friendliness to hostility, mistrust and suspicion, cold and penetrating, making him squirm at times. Not that he'd admit it.

One fine day, he was yelling at his dad for yelling at him. Stupid, really, and this was the second thing he was going to majorly regret in his life - for probably forever. If he had known what would happen that day, he would never have yelled, never have stormed out of the house in a fit of anger, and would have just appreciated his last few moments with his dad. But he didn't. All he had to do was behave like a rebellious teen and leave the house when his father hadn't even finished scolding him. He wished he had sticked around for those last few moments, last few moments when he was scolding him. At least it would be one more minute, one more second, more time for him to spend with his father, even if it was taken up by his shelling. But he just had to leave. He had to ignore his father, make him boiling with rage. He never had a chance to say goodbye or apologize. Nothing of that sort.

When he got back, it was all too quiet for his liking. He had half-expected his father to come standing at the top of the stairway, glaring sternly at him, and give him another round of disciplinary action. But he didn't. He didn't come stomping down and yelling, and the whole house was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. It made his senses go on the alert and ringing in his ears. Something hadn't been quite right then; he didn't know what, but he knew it wasn't good. His gut feeling was telling him something was wrong. Silently, he had crept up the stairs, half-expecting his father to come yelling at him any minute now. Then he entered the study, and then he gasped, his heart almost stopping there and then.

Blood had been spattered on the walls, and a bloodied knife lay on the floor. It was a clear sign Jokers had been here, but he didn't register all these. All he saw was the lone fellow sitting, head down, on the chair - a lifeless form. Without even nearing, he already recognised who it was, but he dared not come closer. He was hoping that he was wrong, that his mind was just hallucinating and this was all just a bad dream, a nightmare, that he was going to wake up from. Finally, against his better judgement, he walked closer and his heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.

It was his father.

His father, dead.

Warren McGinnis, dead!

All his emotions had stopped flowing into his brain. He forgot all the times where he had hated his father to the core, wished him dead and waited for the day that he could leave his father's house. All he could feel was numbness seizing his body, then the hot tears quietly flowing down his face without him even noticing. He stood there, stock-still for a minute or so, seeing the gruesomeness of it all, his father's face, mutilated and... He couldn't bear to describe it, and till this day it still stung his mind.

The first thing he knew was that it was all his fault. Why hadn't he better appreciated his father's presence? Now it was too late. He couldn't turn back time, couldn't bring himself back to the day where they'd quarreled. He wanted to apologise, apologise for everything. His father had died thinking his son had hated him, and his own son possibly rejoiced at his death. No! It was too horrible a possibility for him to grasp. Had his father really thought that his own son had never loved him? Had he died with this wrong thinking? Had he? Then he was wrong if he had! But now, his father had passed away - gone were his chances, he wouldn't get another try. He wouldn't get another try to tell his dad that he was sorry - sorry for screaming, sorry for walking out, sorry for everything.

He had called the police, yet they were unable to yield any clues. However, he managed to find a disc that his father had slipped into a photo frame of the two of them together. It had contained illegal information - stuff that would discriminate Powers, a business tycoon. He wondered if his father had chosen the photo frame of them together because he still trusted his son. An inkling of hope there, that his father hadn't died with the notion that his son hated him. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. It would only be enough when his father came back, and he could ask him there, face to face. But again, it was too late for that, and all that were left were empty regrets, regrets that could do nothing, nothing at all.

And then, through a fated encounter with another rich, old man, he had become the Tomorrow Knight, the Batman. At first, it had been to avenge his father, most probably. To fight against the world of crime, the world that had done nothing for him and had did in his own father. That world had never been rewarding, and it was torturous and dark, and innocent people suffered. He never wanted another broken family, another incident where the same thing that had happened to him to occur again. He didn't want to see another child in tears, suffering in silence. He wanted justice. He wanted justice to reign in his city.

As the months went by, he slowly realised that it wasn't just about avenging his father. He had to accept that he hadn't been his fault, and just move on. Of course he would never forget the pain and the hurt he'd felt, but he had to move on in his life. He couldn't stay and replay the scene over and over again, but his father would always remain in his heart, as does that day. He had to accept himself and stop hating himself for the day he had blamed himself for. And he knew that this job wasn't about just his father, it was because he cared.

He did care about the city more than anyone would believe, and this was the duty of the Dark Knight, wasn't it? To strike unknown fear in the hearts of criminals and play the hero of the day - or rather, the night. And the city, however apathetic, was still made up of people - people who needed saving, people who were in trouble. He vowed from then onwards that he would try his best to rescue the people.

So whenever Dana complained that he had stood her up again, and whenever he thought about how hard his boss was driving him, he reminded himself that it had been _his_ decision to put his regular life on hold because of this. Of course, he longed to revert back to the normal him he was before, but he knew it wouldn't be half as meaningful as this life he led was. Anyway, he loved his job as much as he loved protecting this city. He had grown to love it. He had chosen to lead this double life, and this choice was made by himself, so it wasn't like he was being forced to or something. He had also chosen to try to maintain his normal life, as well as his love life, instead of letting them crumble. So far he wasn't doing such a great job at it, but he'd just have to contend for the sacrifices that he'd put up anyway.

And this was what he lived for.

There had been too many regrets in his life, but no more of that.

He was going to play the Bat, no matter how tough it was going to be, and he would never, ever give up.


End file.
